Charles Buttergirth had awoken that morning in his usual manner–sweatily ensconced in a pile of slick bodies that were still quivering from last night’s exertions–but after extricating himself from the heaving mass of slaked companions and pirouetting to the loo, he was greeted by a sinktop mirror bearing a most unexpected and shocking gift: his chin dimple, the swoon-inducing marvel around which Buttergirth’s very essence revolved, had turned into a penis.

]]>By: Matthttp://thepleasurechest.com/pc/blog/imagine-the-next-hit-erotic-novel-and-win-50-shades-themed-toys/#comment-2735
Tue, 05 Nov 2013 02:56:59 +0000http://www.thepleasurechest.com/blog/?p=9856#comment-2735The Humpit: Or In and Out Again

In the bottom of the humpit there was a hole, not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a humpit-hole, and that means comfort.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Thaddeus Cockington whispered sexily from the bushes. “I tracked your phone so I could show up here at your house and surprise you with a D/s relationship contract. You seem too naive to read the warning signs of abuse, and that really turns me–”

But he could not finish this sexy sentence, because he was choking on the pepper spray Elizabeth Thorne had wisely carried with her.

She was wearing a mini skirt that could double for a tube top, a sheer blouse, 6 inch heels and makeup that looked like it had been applied by the hand of Renoir. He slowly backed her against the wall…whispering filthy things into her ear, licking her neck, kissing her gently. Looking right into her eyes, he said “You look like a fucking whore” to which she replied “Then why don’t you treat me like one?” He slowly began his descent down her body, licking and kissing every inch, and stopped when he got to her…

Ellie mopped the sweat from her brow as she raised herself up, her basket brimming to overflowing with freshly picked cobs of corn. Her rich auburn hair shone in the fading sunlight, and her firm, tanned skin glistened with a healthy sweat in the late summer heat. As she hefted up the basket, the tensing of the muscles of her arms was clear under her taut, young skin, and she groaned gently with the exertion of lifting.
She was acutely aware of the stiffening of her nipples beneath her coarse flannel shirt…

Excerpt: Winter could see the shaking in her fingers, tremulous with unadulterated gratitude, as she reached out to caress the frigid skin of her long-lost lover. His eyes were wild and his lips were bloodless and she had never thought to see him return. She would revive ever inch of him with her lips, stroke his cock to life with her tongue.

Before she could make a single movement she saw his ferocious eyes take in the bundle in her arms.

“Is that…?” He crept closer to inspect the now-mewling child, and his eyes went cold.
“Well,” he sneered, “if it isn’t a little bastard. Winter’s bastard, you must be.”

Winter’s mouth went try. How could she tell her lover that the babe was his, after he turned so violently and easily against her, after she had waited all this time? age was blinding and speech was impossible.

In his half-frozen state it was easy for Winter to bring him to his knees by only her hand ’round his throat.

“Yes, my bastard, once your son. Yes, yours. And you will spend the remainder of the eve on your knees, your tongue buried in my cunt, if you wish to ever reclaim your right to him.”

She felt the beginnings of twin satisfactions as he tilted his chin up to press his face into her flesh.”